Monster
by Marytriquetra
Summary: Cera, daughter of the last remaining prince of hell is trying to escape her servitude to her father. When her path crosses with the Winchesters, she is in more danger than ever. Do they chose to trust her? What will Asmodeus do when he finds out his beloved daughter is keeping the company of two hunters and an angel?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I am Cera of Cainan, daughter of Cathan; or at least I was, once.

A long time ago, that was the title I went by. Now I am simply _his_ daughter. Cathan clearly had nothing to do with my conception. You can see as much in my eyes, that is, mine and my true fathers. My eyes are bluer than the sea I grew up next to, as are his. But in the thousand years since my birth, I have never been capable of detaching myself from being the possession of my master, be that Cathan or the man I now call father.

That wouldn't stop me trying, however.

 ** _Seattle, Washington. October 1995._**

I climbed the fire escape, my pursuers closing in behind me. My heavy black boots slid along the thin metal rods of the ladders and stairs. Icy water slid down the back of my neck, beneath the collar of my jacket. My breath was burning in my chest, the chill of the air slicing through my lungs with each hastened breath. I picked up the pace, reaching the roof before them, and running.

I started flat out along the roof towards the far side, where I knew I could jump to another building. I heard their footsteps gathering around me hard and fast but I kept pushing on, I would get as far away from them as I could, outrun them if I could. If not, I'd have to fight them, and though I was strong, I would lose.

I was close to the edge of the roof now, I ran just that little bit harder and leaped, aiming for the top of a takeaway restaurant. I suddenly felt a pulling from beneath me. I looked down to see black smoke wrapping around my body and pulling down.

My body hit the ground with a heavy thud, my leathers and jeans protecting me from the worst of it. Before I could think I was surrounded by them. It was over.

I was dragged back to my father, in a mansion not far from the city, where he lived out his years far from hell, far from hells authority, rather. My hands were bound in heavy iron cuffs, like those used to bring slaves to America in my younger years. I smelt my immortal flesh burning beneath them and saw my blistering flesh smoke around them. I was marched into the grand hall, where my father sat on his throne, surrounded by beautiful people lounging on chaise longues, dressed in the most succulent attire from across the centuries. They lay amongst and on top of one another, a haze of smoke surrounding them as it always did. They became one graceful, barely moving organism made of bodies, bodies of people stolen by demons, their eyes glazed black, and dead.

"My daughter, so you have returned." He commented calmly, looking up from his pleasures which surrounded him at all times.

"My Lord." I spat beneath my breath, my eyes directed only at his feet, for I dare not look higher. He looked at my capturs and waved them away, motioning for my chains to be taken away. They did as told.

"Come close, daughter." I began to walk towards him, cautiously. He reached out and clenched his fist, my guts suddenly knotted and tightened as he wrenched me towards him across the hall. He dropped me at the bottom of the steps to his throne.

"You disobeyed me, again, Cera. No matter how I try you do not fail to disappoint me." He spat the words as I tried to gather myself from the ground. He calmed himself.

"My daughter... I love you. But I cannot be seen to favour you." His voice snarled "You must be punished!" He exclaimed. The eternal hum of music and conversation in the great hall dimmed instantly.

"You do not understand that when you do this you betray me! I who saved you, who gave you the greatest gift a father can give his daughter, immortality! You will learn your place." He paused and smacked his lips. "You disobey me so openly. I should have you sent to serve in hell." He looked about himself, dishevelled and conflicted, his lips reared in a snarl.

"Perhaps service is what you need, daughter. Something to fill your time." I had gotten to my knees before him, but the pressure he was construing on my body forbade me from rising farther. He released me. My body fell against the steps and I took in a sharp breath.

I choked and spluttered, my insides in shock from release, my body broken against the shimmering black granite of the steps. He stared at me for a few moments in silence, then looked to some of his advisors who guarded him on either side at the edges of the room, no more than blackened figures in my eyes. He looked back to me.

"You can solve a problem for me, daughter. You will go to Athens, to see the coven there. They have been ungoverned for too long and have grown reckless. You will meet with the witches and make your intentions clear. Anyone who steps out of line will face my judgement, by your hands. Our secret is our bond and these spell casters are making too much noise. Get them under control, that is your task. You go tonight."

"Witches? Filthy..." I spat in hatred of the inferior beings I was being ordered to control.

"I said you will go tonight! Or I will have you locked in a cage for the rest of your miserable, immortal life, or until you learn to know your place and obey me!" He gathered himself. "Now go. Do not return to me unless you have results. Should you stray from the path I have set you on you will be brought back to face the judgement of my elders. I will not intervene on your behalf this time, daughter. Be warned. They will beg for your head."

So this was my fate, to control the witches of Athens, Ohio. It went on to become my title, The Hunter they all called me, for that is what I did. I hunted any witch who stepped outside the rules of practice. The rules were simple; be quiet, don't get caught, no news stories. All deaths or incidents as a result of witchcraft _must_ appear natural. No trace must ever be found. That was it. If they broke the rules then I came for them, I would execute them on my fathers behalf and every few years my father demanded I return to report my dealings in person, though he received a message from one of his henchmen every time I performed an execution. I thought this was how I would live forever. My attempts to escape stopped in the almost certain fear that he would always catch me and drag me to his side. My work gave me some level of freedom, though I was still under his thumb, at his mercy. He was not the merciful type.

What else can you expect of a prince of hell?


	2. Chapter One

**Tupelo, Mississippi, Present Day.**

The impalas engine hummed slowly as Dean pulled into the parking lot of a shabby looking motel, the lit white sign only read "Mote : Vac ncies" as some of the letters had no bulbs in place for them to be lit. Sam stirred.

"Hey Sammy, wake up. We're here, come on you can get some rest inside."Sam looked about the lot, the same familiar grottiness he's was accustomed to. They both got out of the car and got their room keys, room 307.

Despite his tiredness Sam's first priority was setting up his laptop with all the details of the case they had already uncovered. The local news, lore research and eye witness reports on social media. Dean dumped his bags and put on his jacket.

"You want to get a drink?" Dean asked.

"No, I'm just gonna take a look through this and get an early night. You go on ahead." Sam said, a false fleeting smile curling his lips politely. Dean shrugged.

"Suit yourself. I'll be back in a couple of hours, do you want me to get you anything to eat?"

"Eh, no thanks." Sam continued his online search for information.

Dean left the motel room and headed across the road to a bar, it wasn't that late yet so he figured they may still be serving food. He ordered the house specialty at the bar, a twin layered burger with extra bacon and house sauce. He washed it down with a few beers and took a look around him. The bar was filled mainly with middle aged men in cowboy hats. It didn't look like he was going to have a very enjoyable evening. The soft country blues music playing over the jukebox was not to his usual tastes. He finished the evening with a whiskey and decided to head back to the motel.

As he left the bar his phone rang.

"Hey Cas,"

"Hello, Dean. I wanted to check in on the case. If there is anything I can possibly do..."

"Cas, slow down, okay, we only just got here. Why don't you go out somewhere, watch some Netflix, I dunno get a job?"

"Dean I'm going out of my mind. I can help, like I've helped before, what if you need backup."

"Cas don't use words you don't understand. Besides its almost definitely a witch. No one else could be this careless and... Gross. Look we'll check in when we know something. Don't forget to shower."

"Dean, Dean! Don't hang..." Dean shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket and started back towards the motel.

He had no sooner stepped off the curb to cross over than a bike raged past him, almost knocking him over. He shouted after the motorcycle.

"Hey! Watch it pal!" No sooner had the words left his lips than he looked at the figure riding the motorcycle as they drove off. It wasn't a "pal" at all, it was a woman. She had been wearing dark clothing with a hood and spotted a single curl of flaming red hair waving in the wind. Dean brushed himself off, his eyes looking after the woman now long after even the sound of her bike had passed.

When he got back to the motel his brother was already sleeping. He took of his boots and collapsed onto the bed to sleep.

Dean felt a thump on his chest.

"Ow!" He exclaimed.

"Get up, it's time to go, Dean."

"Ahhh... What time is it?"

"8.30. Let's go, there's been another death, same as the last one, last night. Come on we are already late."

"Fine Sammy, just quit throwing stuff at me." He picked up the newspaper Sam had thrown at him to wake him.

The boys got ready and headed out to the crime scene in the impala.

Today was an FBI day.

They got out at the scene which was crawling with reporters and located the Sheriff on scene. He was a small balding man whose cowboy hat barely covered his large head, he stood with his hands on his hips and on his gun at all times and walked with a kick in his stride.

"Gentleman." He said, addressing the boys.

"Sheriff Fardale. I'm agent Miranda, this is my associate agent Sulton." Dean addressed the sheriff and the boys displayed their badges.

"Oh, sure fellas, your colleague is already here, she arrived this morning. You guys sure do get down here fast." Dean was dumbstruck, meanwhile Sam was scoping the area for real FBI agents or other hunters in a similar position.

"Well anyway, I'll bring you over to her and she can fill you in. These things seem to be getting more gruesome every time, poor kid." The sheriff said. Sam and Dean shared a look of worry.

"Actually we were hoping you could give us a quick update. This victim was found when?" Sam asked.

"Oh, first thing this morning. There was quite the commotion in the early hours when he was found. Around 4.30 I think it was. His body just dragged out in the street for all to see. Body was just like the last one, gullet filled with dirt and bugs, the flies and maggots had eaten most of his skin and his inurds by the time we got here."

"So you think he was killed elsewhere, then brought to the scene?"

"Well that's the thing, he was at his girlfriends house until 11pm last night, so for so much of him to have been eaten by the time he was found this morning doesn't seem possible."

Sam looked at Dean, only a witch could find such a creative way to commit murder. They followed the sheriff beyond the police tape and towards the back of a coroners van which was just shutting its doors. The body had been lying in the middle of the road, forensics markers placed where the body was found. Some maggots and earth were spewed over the ground from where the body lay.

"Agent Brennan, some of your colleagues have arrived." The sheriff addressed a young woman, petit and slender, in a dark suit with wide leg trousers covering her shoes. Her thick red hair was tied back into a high pony tail, aside from a few curls around her face which lay loose to her chin. She had been kneeling, photographing the scene. Sam thought this might be a real agent. Dean was not so worried. Agent Brennan stood up and turned to face the boys, straightening her blazer as she did.

"Agents, I wasn't expecting you." She said in a delicate and soft Irish accent.

"I'll let you get to it." The sheriff left.

"We were sent by..." Sam began one of his usual lies. The sheriff was now far enough away.

"Okay let's cut the crap." Dean said. Sam looked shocked and a little offended at being interrupted. "What's your real name, kid?" Now Agent Brennan looked offended.

"Gentlemen, I have this case under control and your services are not required."

"Look I know a hunter when I see one. So fill us in on what you know, and get back to whatever college classes you are skipping right now." Dean remembered the girl on the bike from last night. FBI agents didn't run people over on motorcycles at 11pm.

"Hunters, I should have guessed." Agent Brennan said.

"Why don't we get some coffee over the road and you can bring us up to speed. We can help." Sam said.

"Sammy this kid's an amateur and I ain't working with her, no offence kid."

"Would you mind, terribly reconsidering your address, I am a lot older than I look." Agent Brennan's face turned sour. Dean mimed her mockingly.

"Dean!" Sam started. "Please excuse my brother. Coffee?"

Reluctantly all three made there way to a diner just down the street and sat in a booth. A waitress with black hair tied in a high bun and chewing gum came to take their order.

"Coffee, please" Sam asked.

"Nothing, thank you." Agent Brennan said.

"I'll have the breakfast burger, extra bacon and maple syrup. Eggs on the side and can I get some pancakes with that?" The waitress nodded at Dean. "Oh and a coffee, thank you darlin'." Sam glared and Dean.

"What?" He asked, defensive of his order. Both boys faced Agent Brennan at the booth.

"So, why don't we start with names, my name is Sam, this is my brother Dean."

"Cera." The supposed Agent Brennan replied.

"So is this your first gig or what?" Dean asked. Cera glared at him.

"Witches are my speciality, I have been tracking and hunting them for a long time. As such I believe it would be better for continuity purposes if you allow me to continue the investigation alone." Cera seemed uneasy, she kept looking out of the window and around the surrounding streets shops and alley ways.

"I appreciate you may want to do this alone but my brother and I can help, and we never leave a town without knowing the problem we came here to solve has been solved. So any information you already have would be greatly appreciated." Cera seemed frustrated by this.

"Fine, but he needs to stop calling me kid and you both need to leave as soon as we have dealt with this witch."

"Agreed." Sam said. Dean said nothing.

"Fine." He said like a pouty child.

Cera passed Sam her camera and the food arrived. Sam looked through the photos. Some of the first victim, others of the second, and of both crime scenes. Both victims were displayed in public, Earth, maggots and flies filling and surrounding the corpses, mouths wide open and eyes bloodshot.

"Suffocation. That's how they died." Cera said.

"So the soil was poured down their throats while still alive?" Sam replied.

"Unfortunately. No hex bags at either scene. I believe the witch was physically present, performing the spell when they died."

"Any idea who would do this?"

"None so far, but it's a woman, I saw her last night." Cera said. Dean looked up between mouthfuls.

"Hey about that, you nearly ran me off the road with that bike!"

"Maybe if you had looked where you were stepping you wouldn't have..."

"Okay, time out." Sam interjected. "What did she look like?"

"Early 40s, dark hair, average height and figure. Just like any other women in this town. My priority now is to interview family of the victims and speak to the coroner about this mornings body, see if anything new has been turned up."

After eating, all three made their way back to the impala, and drove to the first victims house. Andrew Callman, aged 17. The house was a-typical suburbia. Wood shutters on the Windows, a green lawn and picket fence. Cars lined the street and mourners were making their way to the back yard. It must be the wake.

A woman, tearful and reserved, approached the three "agents". With a tray of sandwiches in her hands.

"Thank you, ma'am, but we are here to speak with Mr and Mrs Callman." The mthree of them showed their badges.

"Oh, I see." She looked behind her. "John!" She called her husband.

"If you want to go through to the kitchen," she motioned to some French doors at the back of the house, "my husband and I will be with you in a moment."

The three of them went through to the kitchen and waited.

"So have you found out anything else? About these kids?" Dean asked Cera.

"You think I'm withholding anything I have learned?" Cera replied, still with an air of defensiveness and nervousness.

"Well you said it..." Dean mumbled with a smile before Sam elbowed him. Mr and Mrs Callman entered from the garden.

"What can we do for you?" Mr Callman, a tall man with dark hair, clean shaven in a black suit and grey sweater asked the three.

"We realise you have probably been through all this with the police, and we are sorry for your loss. Would it be possible for you to tell us a little bit about your son? Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to hurt him?" Sam asked them.

"He was a great boy, such a good boy..." Mrs Callman said tearfully

"He had loads of friends, he was never in trouble. Andy was a good boy nobody would have ever wanted to hurt him."

"Mr and Mrs Callman, what did your son do when he wasn't at school or at home? Was there anywhere he'd go? Any friends you didn't approve of him hanging out with? What about his girlfriend, how was their relationship?" Cera asked.

"He was a very popular boy, he had lots of friends. He played football with the school team..."

"We were sure he was going to get a scholarship..." Mrs Callman said.

"Him and Jennifer had not long been together but they seemed to be getting along well, they hadn't been fighting. He would go out with his friends like any other teenage boy."

"Do you know where he liked to hang out?" Sam asked.

"The mall? He was a teenager he'd go out and he wouldn't always say where he was going." Mrs Callman said, more distressed.

"Thank you Mrs Callman, once again we are sorry for your loss."

"Mr Callman, just one more thing, you said his relationship was quite recent. Are there any ex girlfriends that we might need to know about?" Dean asked.

"Not a chance, not that he told us anyway." Mr Callman said.

"Ok. Thank you for your time." Dean replied.

The three left the house and headed back to the impala.

"Well that was useless." Cera said.

"I don't know, he sounds like he was a pretty popular kid." Dean said.

"And popular kids always ruffle some feathers, yeah. It's possible, Dean."

"Is that likely? I thought Mrs Callman said he had lots of friends?" Cera asked.

"Having friends doesn't mean you don't have enemies. Larger groups of friends in high school students can tend to lend themselves to bullying, parties, alcohol." Sam said.

"Yeah and Mr Callman did say he didn't always know where his son went." Dean said, getting into the drivers seat. "But you should remember all this, high school was what, two years ago for you?"

Cera bit her tongue. Sam glared at Dean.

"So we need to find out if Andrew was friends with the latest victim." Cera said. "I say we get to the coroners office. Find out what we can about our latest vic. Then speak to family and friends."

"Agreed." Sam said calmly.

Dean started the engine and headed for the coroners office, passing the police tape around the crime scene as they seemed to be packing up.

Cera looked out the window of the impala and saw two men in long black tailored coats standing in the park across from the crime scene, just under the shade of a large tree. Their eyes followed the impala as it passed, and Cera suddenly felt very nervous.


End file.
